


Into the Deep End

by akaparalian



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Gen, M/M, haus shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tango realizes very suddenly that it’s possible he <em>may</em> have misunderstood what Bitty had meant when he said Jack was “passionate.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Deep End

**Author's Note:**

> Short and silly, but this was, for whatever reason, a thought I was struck by pretty much as soon as Tango was introduced. I love that boy.

In hindsight, Tango can probably blame his US History professor for everything.

See, it started like this: he was talking to Whiskey after practice, complaining about how he had a text next week like _right_ after their game next Thursday and he hadn’t done very well on the last one so he really needed to study but with the game the night before there just wasn’t _time_ , and oh by the way did Whiskey know anyone who had Farraday for HIST 104, because maybe then Tango could get a study group together? He didn’t really know anyone in his class but he needed someone to help him out so --

“Hey, hey, wait!” Chowder had said, trotting up behind them as they left the locker room. “You said Farraday, right? I had her last semester. Those tests are killer, yeah? I still have all my notes and stuff, I can totally help you study, like on Wednesday or something.”

“Wow, really?” Tango had replied, very nearly melting in relief. Chowder was one of the few people who -- well -- didn’t seem as though he wanted to duct tape his mouth shut after more than fifteen minutes in the same room. Studying with him might actually work, especially if he still had his old notes; it wasn’t that Tango _didn’t_ take notes, he totally did, it was just that they tended to contain more questions than answers. 

“Yeah! It’ll be fun! I don’t get out of class until kind of late in the afternoon, so you can just, you know, let yourself into the Haus and get started without me. Feel free to go up to my room, I know sitting on the couch can be… uncomfortable.”

It had all seemed so simple at the time.

So here he is now: sitting awkwardly on Chowder’s desk chair, half-heartedly leafing through his notes until his savior arrives. The Haus is quiet, for once; most everyone is still in class or out running errands. Tango’s not going to lie, he’s slightly spooked to be here alone -- one time he had heard the upperclassmen discussing some alleged Haus ghosts, and Ransom seemed _terrified,_ and Tango’s not, like, one hundred percent certain he believes in the supernatural, but he’s not really keen on taking the chance, you know?

That line of thought is probably what makes him jump half a foot in the air when the front door bangs open, even the immediate, loud bubble of Bitty’s voice not quite enough to quiet the reflex reaction of _oh God the ghosts are coming for me RIGHT NOW this whole Haus is haunted how do I contact the Ghostbusters???_

“I can’t believe you’re here, you are _so_ lucky I didn’t run to the store like I was thinking about doing.” Bitty is saying as Tango tries to will his heartbeat to slow the fuck down already. “You would have been left all alone on the porch for like an _hour_.”

“Don’t lie to me, Bittle. You and I both know that door has probably _never_ been locked,” someone says back, sounding quietly amused, and Tango frowns, because -- who the hell is _that_? At this point in the year he’d recognize his teammates’ voices anywhere, pretty much, but this guy is… kind of a mystery. There’s something nagging at the back of Tango’s mind, though, like he _should_ recognize him -- he’s definitely heard that voice before…

“This team has changed, Jack. We believe in Haus safety now,” Bitty banters back with faux haughtiness, and it clicks. Oh -- _oh_. That voice belongs to Jack Zimmermann. Jack Zimmermann, NHL star, is in the Samwell Hockey Haus at the same time as Tango, and Tango is sitting in a bedroom that looks like the San Jose Sharks literally vomited all over that instead of being where he can even _see_ him.

He’s halfway to Chowder’s door when Bitty speaks again, much closer this time. And also -- lower? He sounds kind of weird, actually.

“Really, though, I’m… glad you decided to come up early. _Really_ glad, Jack.”

“Me too.” Um. That. Sounded. Sort of uncomfortable. Well, not like _Zimmermann_ felt uncomfortable, but it’s sure uncomfortable for _Tango_. Especially because it’s followed by a soft, wet noise, which is -- no, which _definitely_ can’t be --

Bitty’s door creaks open, then bangs closed, and Tango jumps again. Okay, okay, he’s totally jumping to conclusions, isn’t he? There are… many explanations for what he just bore unfortunate auditory witness to that _don’t_ involve Bitty kissing Jack Zimmermann and therefore definitely _don’t_ involve Tango sort of maybe accidentally being a voyeur. Wait -- does it count as voyeurism if it was just kissing? People kiss in public, like, all the time, and he didn’t even actually _see_ anything, he mostly just heard them talking, it’s not _that_ weird.

What is weird is the grating, metallic noise that echoes through the empty Haus a moment later. It takes Tango a moment to recognize the sound, but when he does, a cold shiver of dismay runs through his entire body: creaking bedsprings. Oh. Oh _God._

Tango realizes very suddenly that it’s possible he _may_ have misunderstood what Bitty had meant when he said Jack was “passionate.”

Who can he ask, though? He’s not sure it’s safe to leave Chowder’s room, and even if it were, he’s not sure where anyone else even _is_ \-- he kind of suspects the Haus being empty (or supposedly empty, anyway) is the reason he finds himself in this predicament in the first place. If he were them, _he_ would have waited until everyone was gone… Everyone but a poor, traumatized tadpole that they don’t know about, that is.

A moan echoes down the hallway and floats under Chowder’s door, and Tango flinches. Unbidden, a part of his mind asks _Was that Bitty?_ Probably, based on the pitch and timbre and oh _God_ he does _not_ want to be thinking about that, he --

“Ja - a - ack,” Bittle’s voice creaks from several rooms away. _Shit_.

He whips out his phone and addresses a text to Chowder.

**> Help I got here early so I let myself in like you said but Bittle and JACK ZIMMERMANN are here**

Chowder replies almost immediately, thank God, but not before the distinct sound of a headboard hitting a wall nearly makes Tango fumble and drop his phone.

**> jacks here??! really thats great!!!!! i thought he wasnt coming until tonite!!!!!! did you say hi yet?**

**> No you don’t get it Zimmermann and Bittle don’t know I’m here they think they’re alone**

**> dont get what??? go say hi silly! jack doesnt bite i promise!!!!!! : >**

Based on the noises Bittle is making, Tango is beginning to doubt that.

Okay. Well. Apparently Chowder isn’t getting the message. Does he not _know_? Tango’s immediate assumption had been that maybe he was just out of the loop because he was a tadpole, but what if there’s more to it than that? If Chowder doesn’t know, does that mean none of the frogs know? Does… does _anybody_ know? Oh, God, is it a _secret_? Are they going to be mad at him for finding out? Bitty is _scary_ when he’s mad, and Tango’s not an idiot, he’s seen Jack Zimmermann play, that guy could _fuck him up_ if he wanted to. Besides which, if Tango makes Bittle upset, there will be hell to pay with every. Single. Upperclassman. And besides _that_ , he doesn’t _want_ to make Bittle upset, almost as much as he doesn’t want to be listening to him _have sex_ right now.

“Bitty, Bits, fuck -- _Eric_ \--” Jack Zimmermann ( _Jack Zimmermann_ ) groans from across the hall. Tango whimpers pitifully.

He gives the Chowder method one last try. 

**> SERIOUSLY PLEASE SAVE ME**

**> i really dont know whats going on but class just let out so im on my way!!! :3**

The reply comes just as quickly as before, but it’s not enough. It’s in that horrifying moment that the creaking of bedsprings increases to a ridiculous speed and Bitty cries out, high-pitched and cracking, at the exact same time Zimmermann lets out a hoarse yell. This moment is going to be imprinted in perfect clarity in Tango’s memory for as long as he lives, and he already knows it.

The silence afterward seems to echo. 

Then there’s a pleased sigh (Tango makes a strangled noise of his own in response, praying to whatever deities might still be listening that he somehow manages to forget that any of this ever happened), and Bittle’s voice murmuring something sleepy and slow. Are they done? They had better be done. If they’re not done, Tango can’t be held accountable for any consequences, because Chowder’s on his way home now and he knows Bitty knows that, Bitty has this weird pseudo-parental sixth sense for when people are supposed to be certain places, it’s uncanny.

Thank God -- _Thank God_ \-- that’s when the door downstairs bangs open. Chowder’s class must be close, or else he’s the kind of utter sweetheart who comes as fast as he can even when he’s not quite sure what the problem is. Whatever the case may be, Tango heaves a shaky sigh of relief at the sound of him clattering up the stairs. Bitty and Zimmermann have gone blessedly silent, and by the time Chowder swings the door open, Tango thinks he maybe looks sort of like a functional human again, and not as horrified as he still feels.

“Tango, buddy, what’s the _matter_?” Chowder asks, concerned, as soon as he gets a good look at him. So maybe he’s not doing too well with that functional human facade, then. “You look, like, awful, and your texts weren’t making _any_ sense. Is Jack still here?”

“ _Shut the door,_ ” Tango hisses, and Chowder, with the sort of slow, exaggerated motions one usually reserves for dealing with a wounded animal, complies.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” he asks carefully, making his way over to where Tango is still sitting stock-still in his desk chair.

“Not even a little bit.”

“...Okay,” Chowder says slowly. Apparently Tango not wanting to talk about something is what it takes for him to _really_ cotton on to the seriousness of the situation. “So… history?”

“History,” Tango agrees, and basks in the sweet, blessed silence from down the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://akaparalian.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/akaparalian)!!


End file.
